In Sickness and In Health
by history lady 24
Summary: '"There, there," she cooed, her tender gesture something between that of a mother and a lover.' A one shot of Sybil and Tom the evening that she returns from her training at York during Season Two in which she tries to show Tom that she does care when he becomes ill and needs a bit of tender nursing.


_Despite the fact that season three is storming ahead at present, I still find myself sometimes thinking back to Seasons 1 and 2. This piece is a one shot set the day and evening that Sybil returns to Downton after her schooling is done at York. I've always wondered how in the world they managed to speak to one another for the first time, Tom's proposal still fresh in both of their minds. My answer came to me in the form of this story, which the little muse that sits on my shoulder whispered to me not long ago. Told from Sybil's perspective, this episode allows her to show Tom that while she might not have been able to accept him, she does still care for him, and will try to do her best for him when a crisis arises._

**Downton Abbey, Season Two, the Night of Lady Sybil's Return From York**

"Anna, I'm going to ask you something that I do want you to mention to anyone else." She paused. "Is Mr. Branson ill?"

Sybil could hear her voice shake slightly as she formed the last word. She tried to keep the storm in her gray blues eyes calm as she met Anna's gaze.

"Yes, milady. He became ill a few days ago, and still hasn't improved…."

Sybil's eyes closed as Anna continued to speak.

_So that really is why he didn't come._

She'd felt ill herself that morning – so desperately ill, but not physically. At first it was just her mind and her heart that hurt, as she had lain awake in her small iron bed last night, the last night she was to be at the nurses' training school in York. She'd barely slept, her mind too awake and afraid to make sense of anything other than that tomorrow – tomorrow – she would know if Tom had left or not.

_They won't hear from me._

Laying there, in the dark, she had replayed those words over in her mind a million times. The words that Tom had spoken, so sweet and caring. And her own words, her responses, so stupid and selfish.

_I'm terribly flattered._

_It'll be hard for me to let you go, my last link with home..._

_I know you will._

_And if your family casts you off it won't be forever._

_Terribly flattered._

_Because flattered is a word that posh people use when they are getting ready to say no._

_I wish you wouldn't._

_Please don't make fun of me. It's cost me all I've got to say these things._

_I'm terribly flattered._

Tears sprang into her eyes, as they had many times over the last several weeks. _Terribly flattered._ The words echoed in her mind again and again. _What if he doesn't come tomorrow? What if he's left? What if I'll never see him again? What if I sent away my best friend, my dearest, sweet Tom, with those words? How will I ever survive it at home now if he's not there to support me and give me courage?_

A part of her wanted to turn over and punch her pillow, groan, throw something into the darkness of her room. But she couldn't. It would wake Susan, her roommate.

Instead she lay there, in her bed, her body trembling as she fought back the tears. _I will not cry again. I will not. I will not cry again._ Yet the words did little to stem the tide.

She'd finally fallen asleep just before dawn. When Susan had woken her she'd risen quickly, and had attempted to pretend that everything was fine. Yet her hands shook as she pulled her hair back into a simple bun.

_What if he's not there?_ She asked herself the question again as she stared at herself in the small mirror, pushing pins into her hair roughly. _What if he's gone, and I'll never see him again?_

Sybil wanted so desperately to believe that he was still there. She'd not heard anything from him since he'd left her off that day. She'd received letters, of course, but only from her sisters and her mother. And while none of them had mentioned anything about a new chauffeur, Sybil highly doubted that any of the three women would consider such an ordinary occurrence as a servant giving notice and leaving Downton worth mentioning.

_So today I find out._ Her lower lip trembled and she could feel water gather in her eyes yet again that morning.

"Are you alright, Syb?" Susan asked from the other side of the room.

Sybil looked away from the mirror and turned towards the other side of the small room. "Yes, of course. Just wondering what it will be like, when we get home, to be on our own for the first time, at hospital." Sybil added the last two words quickly, wincing at the double meaning of her comment.

Susan nodded. "I know, I'm nervous too."

_You have no idea, _Sybil thought.

The moment she almost broke down was later, when they were standing in the courtyard together, waiting for their rides to come. Most of the girls would be leaving on a bus that would take them to the station in town. Their ride had not yet come when the Renault pulled up. Sybil found herself straining to see beyond the glare of the sun on the glass of the windshield as the car came into sight. _Please let it be him. Please let it be him,_ she prayed silently.

And then her world fell away.

Looking back, she couldn't quite remember what had happened next, or what she might have said. She just remembered watching Edith's smile fade slightly as she hopped out of the driver's seat and down to greet Sybil.

"Sybil! Over here! I'm so glad to see you!"

She hoped that she'd murmured something appropriate, something fitting. She couldn't remember, though, couldn't think.

_He's gone. _

_He left. _

_Tom – my best friend – the man wants to marry me –_

_Gone. _

_He left._

_I drove him away._

Her face was white as she stared back at Edith's cheerful expression. "Why are you? Where's Br- Branson?"

"Branson?" Edith looked confused. "He's back home. He wasn't feeling well – much of the staff has been sick lately with a bad case of influenza. So I decided to surprise you and drive down myself…"

Edith continued to pratter on, talking about the drive and the terrible condition of parts of the road, and a million other little things.

Sybil, though, heard nothing of it. Color rushed back into her cheeks as she turned her sister's words over again in her mind.

_At home. Tom's back at home. Sick, with influenza. _

_Much of the staff has been sick lately._

_Tom's at home._

_Thank God._

She'd wanted to see him when they'd first arrived home, later that afternoon. But there was tea, of course, and then she had to dress for dinner (how odd that seemed after eight weeks of wearing only a uniform!) and then conversation and cards in the drawing room afterwards. He'd never been far from her mind, though, as she sat and tried to make polite conversation. _Is he really still here? What if I heard Edith wrong? Is he gone? Did he leave? Is that why he didn't come today, to fetch me and bring me home?_ She still couldn't quite shake her doubts.

It wasn't until after she'd gone up, and Anna had come to attend her, that she'd been able to learn any more.

"Anna, I'm going to ask you something that I do want you to mention to anyone else." She paused. "Is Mr. Branson ill?"

Anna 's face revealed nothing of her thoughts as she began to reach for the pins in Lady Sybil's hair.

"Yes, milady. Most of us have been, in the last few weeks. There's been something terrible going around in the village, and some of us on the staff have had it too."

Sybil's eyes closed briefly. _So it's true._

"Don't." The word escaped Sybil's mouth quickly. Anna turned a confused gaze to her in the mirror.

"Pardon me, milady?"

"I'm sorry, Anna. Just – don't worry about my hair tonight. Let's leave it for now. I can take it down, later. If you can just help me out of my dress, I think I'll go and have a look in on him before I go to bed, just to be sure that he's alright."

Anna froze. "You want to go out to Mr. Branson's cottage?"

Sybil tried to arrange her face to look normal, despite the fact that she knew what she was contemplating was not. "Of course. I am a nurse, now, Anna. If there's anything that can be done for him, shouldn't I do it?"

"But he's there all alone. And he's doing much better, I'm sure. Mrs. Patmore was with him for awhile earlier today, and I took a turn looking in to him before dinner. He's probably sleeping now, and there's no reason to disturb him, certainly, when that's probably what he needs most."

"Still. Anna, I should look in on him. That's what I'm here to do now – take care of those who are ill."

Sybil placed her hand on Anna's as it rested on the back of the chair. Catching her gaze and holding it, she added what she hoped seemed a casual tag. "And there's no need to worry anyone else. I can slip out quietly, and no one will be the wiser."

Anna nodded, too stunned to protest any more. "Do…do you know where it is, milady?"

"Just behind the garage, of course." Sybil stood and turned her back to Anna as she said the words, intentionally shielding her face from Anna's gaze, fearful that she might see the color rising in Sybil's cheeks.

"Yes, of course, milady."

Neither of them spoke anymore as Anna helped Sybil step out of her gown. As she hung the garment in the wardrobe Sybil put on her nurses uniform, her fingers moving quickly she fastened the buttons.

_I must be careful. But I must go. I must see for myself, that he is still here, and that he is alright._

Thirty minutes later, the house behind her now dark, Sybil stood at the door to Tom's cottage, her hand frozen just short of the wood.

_What are you doing? _The voice in her head that liked to remind her that she was once a reasonable person was talking her again. _You're out in the cold and it's nearly midnight. Everyone in the house has gone to bed, but you insist instead in going out to Tom's cottage on the pretext that he's sick, just because you claim that you have to see him. You know full well, though, that it will not end well if anyone catches you out here, for you or for him._

_And God only knows what he'll say to you, anyway, after the way you treated him._

Sybil swallowed hard and shook her head as though to banish the cloudy thoughts. Yet they continued to come.

_And what will you say to him, anyway? Are you just going to pretend that nothing happened in York? Are you just going to try to pick up where you last left off, at Downton, as though he never proposed to you?_

Clenching her teeth, Sybil brought her hand back to knock. As she did she heard a terrible moan, followed by an awful retching. All thought of propriety gone, Sybil dropped her hand to the doorknob and turned it.

The sight inside was enough to break her heart. Tom lay in his bed, his head hung over a large metal bowl, a look of sheer exhaustion and sickness on his face. He was so focused on emptying the contents of his stomach, in fact, that he did not hear or see Sybil until her hands reached for the bowl.

"Let me take that, now." She said the words softly, hoping her tone could comfort him.

Pained blue eyes met hers. "Sybil." It was one word, but it spoke volumes.

"Shhh," she quieted him. "I'll take that out, and be back inside in a minute to clean you up."

Before Tom could protest, she took the bowl out into the yard adjoining the cottage and emptied its contents. Coming back into the cottage, she rinsed the bowl with some water and soap and placed it back within Tom's reach, in case he needed it again.

"Sybil, you shouldn't be – " this time he made it a little farther with his protest.

"Sssh. This is exactly where I should be. I'm a nurse now, remember? It's my job to care for people who are sick. And you certainly are…"

She let her eyes trail over him, taking in every detail. He looked drawn and thin, his face flushed with fever and his eyes sunken into dark shadows. The exhaustion of fighting the influenza over the last few days had taken its toll on him. She watched as he slowly closed his eyes and tried to move his lips.

"Sybil, please…."

"Sshh," she said again, not trusting herself to words. Instead she let herself sit down on the edge of his bed and reached for his hand. She told herself that it was because she wanted to take his pulse, to make sure that his heartbeat was steady, but a part of her knew that she made the gesture simply because she wanted so badly to touch him.

His eyes only opened again when she pulled her fingers back from his wrist. He couldn't meet her gaze, instead staring down at the blanket in front of him, a look of shame on his face.

It only took her a moment to notice the source of his embarrassment. When Tom had been sick, some of it had spilled onto his blanket.

Thankful for something to do, Sybil stood briskly and began to pull the blanket back, working silently, not sure what to say to relieve Tom's embarrassment. A closer examination revealed that the mess extended to his pyjama shirt as well.

"Do you have another blanket?"

Tom nodded, wincing, as though his head was pounding with aches. "In the bureau, in the corner."

Sybil followed his gaze to the brown chest. "Right." She crossed over to the bureau and extracted not only a blanket, but also a clean set of sheets. "What was your bed last changed?" She could feel her face flush at her use of the word.

_Bed. _

_His bed. _

_The place where he sleeps._

His weak voice brought her back to the moment. "I don't know. I'm not sure, even, what day it is right now, honestly. But surely you can't…."

"I can, and I will. You'll feel much better when you've a clean bed to sleep in. Now move to this side a bit, if you can…."

Following Sybil's instructions, Tom shifted his weight carefully. Calling on the memories of her recent training, Sybil carefully stripped the bed and remade it with Tom still lying in it, still too exhausted to try to stand up.

"And now I'll need to change your shirt…" She flushed brightly, her eyes on the line of buttons that ran down his chest. "Can you sit up, a bit, Tom?" Her words were slowing and halting

"Aye." Clenching his teeth to fight back the wave of nausea, Tom tried to prop himself up. He watched, silently, spellbound, as Sybil's white fingers began to slowly undo the buttons of his shirt.

Focused on her work, and on the thin, white chest that was emerging beneath her fingers, Sybil tried to keep her gaze steady, terrified of what her eyes might reveal if she looked up. She was so intent, in fact, that she almost missed Tom's frantic gesture when he spoke again.

"Bowl!"

She passed him the bowl quickly and watched as he vomited into it again.

She stood up and crossed back to the sink, returning this time with a rag. When he was done she settled back onto the bed, her legs touching his through the covers, as she leaned forward to wipe his face. "There, there," she cooed, her tender gesture something between that of a mother and a lover.

Setting the rag down, she placed her hand on Tom's forehead. His eyes closed, he flinched at her touch.

"It's alright. You're going to be fine, Tom, I promise." She let her hand linger a moment on the warm skin. _So warm. So..._

She knew in the gesture was too intimate, that it was more than the simple touch of a nurse. But she could not bring herself to pull her hand away. A piece of his hair fell forward onto her hand, and she let herself gently brush it back. Tom, his eyes still closed, turned his face slightly into her hand, letting her cup it more fully.

_My God…_ Sybil felt as though her mind and heart were so full emotions that she might burst at any moment. _Why did I…_

"Tom," she whispered. "Tom, you're too warm, from the fever. I can – if you will let me – that is – I can try to bring it down, but you must first let me take this off of you, and then I can bathe you with cold water, and try to bring it down. Your fever." She bit her bottom lip nervously as Tom opened his eyes. "Will you – can I - do that – for you?"

A tiny groan escaped from his lips. He nodded slightly.

"Then lean forward, on me, Tom."

Wrapping an arm around his back, Sybil brought his body forward, slightly, until he was leaning against her shoulder. The heat of his body seared her, though her thin uniform, and she could feel her pulse quicken. She quickly tugged the loose hanging shirt from him, throwing it on the floor with the dirty linens. Settling him back on his pillows a moment later, she left him only long enough to gather some towels from the bureau and wet them with cold water. Returning to the bed, she settled down and began sponging his hot body with the cloths, working as quickly and as gently as she could.

At first Sybil could feel Tom watching her, his tired eyes narrow slits as he followed her hands. He shivered at the cold, his shoulders shaking. Once he shook so violently that before she could stop herself, Sybil found herself pressing a warm hand to his shoulder, trying to still him. She flushed at the touch, knowing how inappropriate it was, her bare hand on his shoulder. Yet when she saw how quickly he relaxed under the feel of her hands, she knew that it was not in her to regret the action.

After awhile Tom's shaking finally stopped, and his breathing began to take on a deeper rhythm. _There. It's broken, _she thought, allowing her eyes to settle back on his face. She smiled slightly when she discovered that his eyes were closed, his brow wet, the breaking of the fever having brought to him the sweet release of sleep.

Now unobserved, Sybil felt herself relax as she gazed at him. _Oh, Tom._ She sighed deeply, her body finally relaxing, now that she could see that he was more comfortable. _My dear Tom._ Sybil watched him as he breathed in and out. She allowed her gaze to travel down his body, across his bare chest, to his arms, and finally his hands. She stared, spellbound, as he moved in his sleep slightly, his hand moving up to rest of her knee. The gesture was so warm, so loving, so natural, that Sybil felt tears form in her eyes.

Reaching up a hand to his face again, she let herself touch him lightly. She traced her fingers across his forehead again, against the fringe of his hair, and down his cheek. Very gently she allowed her thumb to caress the edge of his lips, coaxing a sleepy smile onto them as he slept.

_My Tom._ The words seemed to pound in her head as she pulled her hand back from his face and moved it down to grasp his own. Lifting it slightly, she ghosted her lips on the back of it, her tears finally falling.

She sat there for a long time, simply holding his hand and watching him as he slept, thankful for the calm. It was only when he turned in his sleep and shivered once more and she forced herself to stand and turn once more to the bureau, where she found a clean pyjama top.

Tom's sleep was so deep that he did not stir as she slid the shirt onto his frame, her hands moving slowly, as though she was trying to burn the memory of each moment onto her mind. When she finished buttoning the last button of his shirt she felt her eyes fill again.

_I don't want to leave him_. It was the only thought in her mind. _But I cannot – no one can find me, here…._

She glanced over at the dirty linens. _ I suppose I should leave them, and let whoever comes in the morning suppose that he just changed them himself._

_I really must go._ The words formed so easily in her mind, but were so hard to obey. Finally she stood, reluctantly, her gaze never breaking from his face.

A silent prayer on her lips, Sybil stood by the bed for a moment. Leaning down to give his sleeping face one last caress, she placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, a tear falling. "I'm sorry," she whispered softly against his skin.

He shifted slightly, but did not awaken. Sure he would now sleep for several hours, Sybil quietly slipped out of the cottage and into the cold darkness of the night.


End file.
